by Marta Perry
“I know you would like a son this time.” Joseph spoke carefully, as if any word might cause hurt.
“It is a boy. I know it. I don’t need any tests to tell me. The boppli feels different this time, and everyone says that’s a sure sign.”
Alarm shivered through Anna. She had to find something to say to defuse the situation. Myra seemed to be teetering on the edge of an explosion.
“We could start a crib quilt for the boppli,” she said. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
The words, meant to comfort, seemed to have the opposite effect.
“Don’t talk as if I were a child myself.” Myra’s voice rose. “You think there is something wrong. There’s not! Nothing is wrong with my baby!”
They were all stunned into silence, to hear gentle Myra shout at them. Then Sarah, never having heard that tone from her mother, burst into tears. Gracie’s face puckered, and in an instant she was crying, too.
Myra’s chair scraped as she shoved it back. Anna expected her to go to Sarah. Instead, she turned and hurried from the room, shoulders stiff. They heard the thump of her feet on the stairs, followed by the slam of the bedroom door.
Anna leaned over Gracie, trying to comfort her. “Hush, hush, little one. It’s all right.”
Moving stiffly, Joseph lifted Sarah from her chair, cuddling her in his lap. He looked at Samuel, his eyes dark with misery.
“I’m sorry. You tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry.” He glanced at Anna, as if to include her in the apology.
“It’s forgotten,” Samuel said quickly. “Myra is all that’s important now.”
Joseph nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright. “Ja.” He cleared his throat. “Anna, you and Leah, you will help, ja?”
“Of course we will.” Pain clenched her heart to see her big brother look so hurt and bewildered. She would do anything she could to make this better.
And what if she had to leave? What would she do then?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After nicking himself with the screwdriver twice in ten minutes and coming within an inch of slicing Matthew’s hand, Samuel had decided that he was a danger in the shop. Leaving Matthew to carry on, he’d brought Mr. Bartlett’s new young horse to the ring to work him for a bit. That, at least, he could do without danger to anyone else.
His problem wasn’t hard to figure out. His heart was with Myra at the clinic, and his mind busy with prayers for her.
Be with her now, dear Lord. Open her to hear the counselor’s words.
The two-year-old gelding, apparently sensing his lack of concentration, dropped to a walk. Samuel flicked the lunge whip in his general direction to get him moving again.
After Myra’s outburst at supper last night, he’d thought it would be impossible to get her to the appointment, but it hadn’t turned out that way. Maybe she’d actually frightened herself as much as she had them.
In any event, when Joseph had gone up to the bedroom to talk to her once the children were settled, she’d been so passive that that seemed to frighten him, too. Convinced this was for the best, bolstered by Anna’s conviction, he’d finally gotten her agreement to see the counselor.
This morning she’d clung to Anna, so it had been decided that Anna would go with Joseph and Myra while Leah stayed with the children. Samuel didn’t doubt that Leah had spent the time praying, just as he had.
When he spotted the car turning into the lane, he slowed the horse, bringing him in smaller and smaller circles until the animal stood next to him. He stroked the strong neck, murmuring quietly for a few minutes before turning the colt into the adjacent pasture.
Common sense told him that they could hardly expect a miracle from one session. Even so, he wanted to rush into the house, needing assurance that his little sister was better.
He contented himself with strolling toward the back porch, wondering whether it would be too obvious if he went inside for a drink of water. Maybe so. Instead he used the pump by the porch, lingering over filling the tin cup, pushing his straw hat back on his head, drinking. He was about ready to repeat the process when Anna came out of the house.
He waited until she neared him, reading the tension in the fine lines around her eyes. “How did it go?”
“Not here.”
Anna took a quick glance around. She nodded toward the grape arbor and led him quickly to the slight privacy it provided. Then she turned toward him, and what she saw in his face must have telegraphed how worried he was.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s nothing bad. The counselor was very encouraging.”
“But you’re still concerned.” He could read her feelings so easily, even as relief flooded through him at the counselor’s confidence.
“I’m just not sure.” She bit her lip for an instant. “Myra was so quiet when she came out of the office. I thought—I hoped and prayed we’d see . . . well, some sign that she’s coming to grips with the situation.” Anna looked up at his face. “I pushed this, I know. Have we done the right thing? What if . . .”
“Now stop.” He took hold of her arms, feeling the tension in her. “Anna, you must not think that way. You saw how Myra was last night. You know we had to make this decision for her, out of love.”
“It’s so difficult. I keep thinking of Jannie, of how I questioned myself every day. Was I doing the right thing for her? I’d never been responsible for anyone before. Never wanted to, never thought I could be.”
Her uncertainty took hold of Samuel’s heart and squeezed. “Was that why you ran away from us?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She shook her head. “It didn’t work, if that was why. I took responsibility for Jannie and then Gracie. And now Myra.” Her voice trembled. “What if I’m wrong?”
“I told you. You’re not wrong.” He drew her closer, uncertain if this was what she needed, but longing to comfort her.
With a sigh, Anna leaned against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her. Comforting, he told himself. That’s all she needs right now.
“This time you’re not alone.” He said the words softly, his breath stirring the hair at her temples. “We’re all taking responsibility for our Myra. We all love her, and the boppli.”
Anna nodded, and he felt the movement. His heart was so full it seemed it would burst out of his chest. He longed to tell her what he felt, but this . . . this was like walking on ice. The smallest misstep could send him plunging to the depths.
So he stood, holding her, sensing the tension ebb slowly from her body. Loving her.
How foolish he had been, to think he couldn’t love anyone for fear he was like his father. When true love came, it wiped away every doubt. If he told her . . .
No, not now. Not when she was so worried. He rested his cheek against her hair and was content.
“Anna?” Leah’s voice accompanied the slam of the screen door. “Are you out here?”
Anna pulled back, wiping her face with her palms. “I’m here.” She walked quickly out of the arbor, and Samuel followed.
Leah stood at the bottom of the porch steps, looking a little flushed when she saw them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”
“I was just filling Samuel in on what happened,” Anna said quietly.
“Gut.” If Leah thought anything else, she was wise enough not to say. “I’m heading home now. I’ll stop over sometime tomorrow.”
“That would be a help,” Samuel said. “You understand this better than we do.”
Leah shook her head. “You’re both doing fine.” She patted his hand, and then seemed to realize that she was holding an envelope. “I nearly forgot. Matthew brought the mail in. There was a letter for you.” She handed the envelope to Anna and hugged her. “Don’t worry too much, the pair of you. Myra will be well.”
Anna gave her a quick squeeze. “Denke, Leah. Da Herr sie mit du.”
May God be with you. It was the first time Samuel had heard Anna use the loving response since her return. Leah’s eyes s
parkled, and she walked quickly toward the buggy as Matthew drove it up.
Anna stood for a moment, holding the envelope in her hand. She looked a bit frightened. “Samuel, it is from Aaron Esch. The family . . .”
“Ja, I know.” The family whose buggy she had hit. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
She took a deep breath and then ripped the envelope open. A single sheet of paper fell out. “It is from Aaron’s wife.”
She bent her head to the words, and he murmured a quick, silent prayer. Anna was dealing with enough just now. Let the letter not make things worse.
She looked up at him, pressing her lips together as if to keep them from trembling. “She says they will see me, if that is what I want.”
“Is it?”
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I think so. It’s time I took responsibility for what I did.”
“It’s a long drive to the Esch farm. I will take you there, if you like.”
Her fingers closed over his. “Denke, Samuel.”
Giggling, Sarah sent a spray of bathwater onto Gracie’s round tummy. Gracie responded by waving both hands, splashing herself in the face and dampening the front of Anna’s dress. She looked so startled at what she’d done that Anna was surprised into a laugh.
“Two little fishes swimming in the creek.” Anna grabbed the towels she had waiting. “The big bird swoops down and snatches them up.”
She scooped Gracie up with one towel and then quickly grabbed Sarah with the other, leaving no time for wails about leaving the bath.
“Bird, bird,” Sarah cried, entranced with the new game. “Dry me, bird.”
“I will, I will.” Anna pulled them both into her arms, rubbing their pink bodies with the towels. She was getting herself nearly as wet as they were, but holding them so close made it worthwhile. Their innocent laughter was an antidote to the day’s worries.
They were probably making more noise than they should, since Myra was supposedly asleep in the bedroom across the hall. Myra had spent the afternoon there, come down and picked at her supper without speaking, then gone back up again, saying she was tired.
It was so unusual for Myra to sleep during the day that Joseph’s stress had shot up again. Maybe it would have been better to let Myra come to terms with the baby’s problems on her own. Maybe . . .
Since Anna had the same worries, she could hardly argue. She’d chased him and Samuel off to keep Sarah and Gracie occupied while she did the dishes. A half hour in Samuel’s calm, steady presence would be better for Joseph than a half hour of asking questions to which they had no answers.
Anna popped nightgowns on the two squirming children, thinking that she could have used a quiet half hour with Samuel herself. For an instant she was back in his arms again, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.
Gracie wiggled free of her and made a dash for the bath, clearly intending to climb back in.
“No, you don’t.” Anna snatched her up, nuzzling her soft, damp cheek until Gracie giggled. “Time for two little girls to have their stories.”
“Sarah pick,” Sarah declared, and darted for the bedroom.
Gracie twisted to join her cousin, so Anna put her down and followed the two of them into their bedroom. Gracie grabbed a book as well, and Anna sat on Sarah’s bed, drawing Gracie onto her lap and snuggling Sarah against her.
The orange reflection of the setting sun suffused the room with a gentle glow, and the soft sounds of evening filtered in—the whoo of an owl, the distant clop of a horse’s hoof, the continuous cricket chirping.
Anna pressed a kiss on Gracie’s damp curls as she opened the book of nursery rhymes. If they left, Gracie would lose this peaceful setting, the stable upbringing, the love of a large family.
But if they stayed, she would lose everything the world valued—higher education, the latest technology, clothes and cars and all the rest of it.
The choice might not be Anna’s to make. The thought lay under the tale of Jack and Jill as she read.
There had been no news from Liz. She clung to that as she read a Bible story, said prayers, and tucked them into their beds with hugs and kisses. Gracie was already half-asleep, and she curled under her blanket without a fuss.
Sarah took a few minutes to arrange her rag doll just so, but her eyes were drooping, too. With a last kiss, Anna went quietly out.
Myra stood in the hallway, looking heavy-eyed. “I fell asleep.” She sounded surprised. “Did you put Sarah to bed already? I should have.”
“You needed the rest. She went down fine for me, but she’s not asleep yet. Why don’t you go in and snuggle with her for a minute?”
Myra brushed her forehead with her hand, as if wiping away the wisps of sleep, and tiptoed into the room.
Through the half-open door, Anna could see that Gracie didn’t stir. Sarah sat up, holding out her arms to her mother, and Myra sank down on the bed, hugging her. Myra’s shoulders shook, and Anna tensed. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea for Myra to go in, not if she was going to let Sarah see her crying.
Perhaps Myra thought the same, because she straightened, talking softly to her daughter. She kissed her, tucking her in, and came out quickly.
“All right?” Anna closed the door.
“Ja.” Myra blinked, as if trying to focus. “I was just—” She stopped, hand on the door, and then leaned her head against it.
“Myra—” Anna wasn’t sure what to say. If only Mamm were here. Mammi would know what to say. The thought was like a sharp stone in her chest.
“Remember what it is like when they’re tiny babies?” Myra said, drawing away, still touching the door with her fingertips. “Remember how you could never stop worrying about the baby, even when she was sleeping, so you’d keep checking on her?”
“I remember.” Anna put her arm around Myra’s waist, urging her gently toward the stairs. “Sometimes I couldn’t hear her breathing, so I’d put my hand on her, just to feel the movement of her chest. It’s a wonder I didn’t wake her up every ten minutes, doing that.”
She could laugh at herself, looking back at it now, but at the time it had been terrifying to have that small life in her care.
Myra actually smiled. “Ach, I was the same. Maybe every mother is.”
Myra’s response sent a wave of relief through Anna. It was Myra’s own sweet smile. “Maybe so, but I didn’t have anyone to ask.”
“I’ll know better this time.” To Anna’s dismay, Myra’s face assumed that mask that declared everything was fine, but she thought she detected a few cracks in the facade.
“I think maybe we’d be a bit that way with every boppli, no matter how many we have,” Anna said carefully. “Loving each one as if he or she is the only one, a little like God loves us.”
“Of course we do. I will. My boppli is fine, he’s fine, he . . .” She stopped short, her lips trembling. “I can’t.” Her voice choked, and tears flowed down her face like a sudden downpour.
“It’s all right,” Anna murmured, and then was disgusted with herself. It wasn’t all right. Why couldn’t she think of something useful to say?
“What if I can’t do it?” Myra spoke through the tears, and the mask was gone for sure now. “What if I can’t take care of the boppli? What if I can’t love this one like I love Sarah?”
There it was, Anna realized as she put her arms around Myra. That was the fear at the center, the one Myra hadn’t been able to express.
“You will,” she murmured. “Some days you might feel as if you can’t, but when that happens, we’ll be there to help you. The family won’t let you down. God won’t let you down. You’re not alone. You know that, don’t you?”
For a long moment Myra didn’t respond. She just clung to Anna. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Ja,” she whispered, and the fierce grip of her hands eased. “Ja. I know that.”
The tension in Anna ebbed as well. Myra had taken the first step on a long, difficult road.
The closer the bu
ggy got to the Esch home, the more Anna wanted to run in the other direction. Coward, she chided herself, but it didn’t seem to do much good.
She glanced at Samuel. His strong face was shielded by the brim of his straw hat so that she couldn’t see his eyes, but she imagined that his tension had increased as well.
They had talked during the long ride, mostly about how Myra had been over the past few days. She had seen the counselor again yesterday, and again had come home quiet and withdrawn, but overall she seemed better. She talked rationally now about the baby, without the frantic optimism she’d displayed before, and she’d expressed a desire to talk to Bishop Mose.
Anna found she was watching Samuel’s sure hands on the lines. Other than expressing his deep concern for Myra, he’d kept their conversation casual, a far cry from the moments they’d shared that day in the arbor. Either Samuel didn’t feel comfortable pushing too close when she was preoccupied with this visit, or he regretted what had happened between them.
Either way, she should be glad of his retreat. She’d grown to care for Samuel, and she recognized the desire to let that caring ripen into something stronger. But she couldn’t do that, not when the future was so uncertain.
Samuel slowed the horse and made the turn into a farm lane. Her throat tightened, and she gripped the seat with both hands.
“Is it too late to change my mind about this?” She was only half-joking.
His gaze assessed her. “It’s natural to be nervous.”
“What if they don’t forgive me?” She asked the question, but she was afraid to hear the answer.
“If they refuse forgiveness, then the burden of that failure is on them.” He said the words as if no doubt existed in his mind.
“Don’t you think that quick forgiveness lets the sinner off too easily?”
“Easily?” He came to a stop some distance from the front porch but didn’t move immediately, seeming to ponder the word. “You have suffered for what you did, I think. Maybe you will continue to suffer. It is up to God. All we can do is follow His direction. Forgive, if we wish to be forgiven.” He jumped down and held out his hand to her. “Komm. They’re waiting for us.”